


Summer Rainshowers

by cafemints



Series: ♡ eri and mari's commission for a cause [2]
Category: ATEEZ (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Theatre, Angst, Confessions, Enemies to Lovers, Fluff, M/M, Mild Angst, Rivals to Lovers, actor! jongho, actor! yeosang, jongsang centric, scriptwriter! jongho, scriptwriter! yeosang, unbetad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-05
Updated: 2020-05-05
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:01:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23962018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cafemints/pseuds/cafemints
Summary: "The rain continues to pour outside. It’s ironic and wrong. It is summer. It’s supposed to be clear skies, sunshines, tank tops, pools, and iced waters; no thrumming against the windows, not hair and shirt drenched in rainwater, and no tears.No tears.But there are tears and it shouldn’t be like this."If there is one thing that Jongho loves, it is theatre plays - writing scripts, acting in them, preparing for them. He enjoys it so much.And if there is one thing that Jongho hates, it’s none other than his co-actor - Kang Yeosang.
Relationships: Choi Jongho/Kang Yeosang
Series: ♡ eri and mari's commission for a cause [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1704280
Comments: 11
Kudos: 96





	Summer Rainshowers

**Author's Note:**

  * For [alpacats (halahan)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/halahan/gifts).



> [♡]. . . commissioned by [lucie](https://twitter.com/http9293) for the [eri and mari's commission for a cause](https://twitter.com/hwacafes/status/1247794726868103170?s=20) whereas 100% of payment are donated to #FightCOVID19 (additional info + our other works can be found in that link!)
> 
> i had a lot of fun doing this !!! and i hope u do too~
> 
> _links u may ignore...unless?:[moodboard](https://twitter.com/hwacafes/status/1257616953234976769) | [curiouscat](https://curiouscat.me/aurorahs) | [ko-fi](https://ko-fi.com/orbyts)_

If one has to ask Jongho what he loves, it would be theatre plays.

  
  


He enjoys watching them, admiring them; wherever they might be - whether through a television or in an actual theater. His eyes glint amidst the dark when the light centers right on the stage, emphasizing the lead actress and aggravating the emotional impact in addition to her perceptible face expressions.

  
  


He enjoys being in an  _ actual  _ play; whoever he might be - whether it is the lead role, the second, or even just a tree. He rather believes that every element placed on the stage, behind, and even beyond has significant roles in their own specific ways. And that’s another reason why he loves theatre plays. He feels he has a  _ purpose. _

  
  


Moreover, he enjoys sitting in his room until late at night, caffeine running through his veins, tongue sticking out to the corner of his mouth, and fingers enthusiastically typing on the keyboard - the clicking sounds making him even more excited. He more than often finds it wondrous how simple words can bring  _ something  _ to life - a character he has never met, a place that has never existed, nor a scenario he has never experienced.

  
  


Jongho enjoys every aspect there is about theatre plays; whoever he could be - whether it is just a watcher, an actor himself, or a scriptwriter. He would do it  _ and  _ would love doing it.

  
  


That is why when the theatre club president, Yunho, announces the local contest among high schools within their area, which encourages students to write their own script for a play and will therefore be evaluated by certain theatre club advisers from different schools, Jongho could not even be more thrilled to come home as soon as the president dismisses the club, to sit in the corner of his room with his laptop, and to start working on another script.

  
  


He doesn’t even mind the prize for it. His mind had already begun to amble through his own land of imagination right when Yunho had encouraged him to work on a script and join, totally disregarding the consequences that may follow as the winner. 

  
  


He might have heard something about “acting in it,” but he isn’t so sure. He would mind about that later. For now, he has to focus on this script and  _ actually  _ win the contest. 

  
  


Although, there is not enough confidence for Jongho to be a sure winner. His class had surely won a few times before with plays whose scripts were written by yours truly, but this is a whole nother level of a contest - a huge step for him and his dream. This involves other high schools - other theatre clubs - and Jongho doesn’t have quite a grasp of how amazing they could possibly be. 

  
  


However, Jongho is a bit familiar with  _ one _ .

  
  


He had been in their school a year ago. He was a sophomore when their club had been invited to watch their play. Of course, Jongho was a lot excited. He had only watched plays done by college students and even professionals themselves, but he had never seen amateurs till that day.

  
  


And the show turned out really well; it surprised Jongho the most. He could not believe it was done only by high school students when, in his eyes, it appeared as though they were already professionals. It was a nice story about social classes, too - a great mind-opener and an apparently advanced topic for sophomore students like them. Jongho could not stop himself from being  _ oh  _ so curious about their scriptwriter.

  
  


So, as he sat on his chair and his hands gripping tightly on the pamphlet, his eyes excitedly scanned the paper, looking for a specific name, desperate to recognize the mastermind behind such a wonderful play.

  
  


And it went by the name  _ Kang Yeosang. _

  
  


Jongho widened his eyes in utter shock and then squinted them afterwards to make sure he had read the name right. He flipped the page to check the name behind the leading role once again and then checked the name of the writer once more. He might have done it a billion times, but still could not believe that Kang Yeosang was  _ that  _ talented.

  
  


Jongho was - well -  _ amazed _ .

  
  


In fact, he was so amazed he rushed to the backstage and to the staff, eager to meet this guy, and give him all the praises that could manage to roll off his tongue. He tried his best to remember how he looked - brown, wavy hair parted in half, a distinct birthmark right by his eye, curvy lips, and pretty,  _ pretty  _ eyes. The same descriptions ran through and through his head while his eyes scanned every staff he saw backstage.

  
  


And then, there he was - sitting on his chair, still in his character’s costume, eyes fixed on the paper in his hand. 

  
  


Jongho could not even be more intrigued, could not keep himself from walking any further and closer to the boy. Slowly, he could say he was already a  _ fan  _ of him. It must be too early to tell, but Jongho could see huge things ahead of Kang Yeosang; by how he  _ literally  _ wrote a play about social classes, how he could even act as well, and how he could appear so professional just sitting there. 

  
  


He already considered himself a fan.

  
  


“Hi there,” Jongho warmly greeted him. He kept his clammy hands by his sides, his back straight, and a very polite smile playing by his lips. He was trying so hard to make a good impression, perhaps also to be the best of friends with the (possibly) uprising script writer and actor. He wouldn’t want to ruin this.

  
  


Yeosang looked up from the paper and finally to him, his eyes lingering a little longer on the material before landing on the stranger now before him. He slowly stood up from his seat and tilted his head to the side, eyes squinted and perplexed.

  
  


Luckily, Jongho got the gesture right away. So, he extended a hand out and rather politely introduced himself, “I’m Jongho from one of the high schools you had invited.” Yeosang then nodded and shook his hand, but the confusion never faded, thus Jongho continued, “I’m a scriptwriter myself and I’ve also been wanting to act in a play, but always hesitated until I saw, in this play, you were the lead actor  _ and  _ the writer,” Jongho brightly chuckled, “I think it’s very impressive.”

  
  


That time, Yeosang didn’t smile humbly nor say thank you even the slightest bit. Rather, he  _ scoffed _ , eyes shifting from the happy-to-meet-him boy before him and to the side. It was Jongho’s turn to be confused or - rather - surprised. This was a response he did not expect in any way.

  
  


“If you’re a writer, you should know how to act as well,” Yeosang started, sparking another shock within the poor boy, “You’re bringing the characters to life in both ways, right? You should know that if you’re a writer yourself.” And he let out another scoff, his lips tugging up into a smirk as he finished with a: “And you dare bring yourself here in front of me.”

  
  


Yeosang then left, walked right past Jongho, who stood there frozen on his feet, hands balled into fists, and fire raging in his eyes.

  
  


And that was when he knew;

  
  


If there is one thing Jongho hates, it would be  _ Kang Yeosang _ .

  
  


Nevertheless, Jongho would like to thank him. Yeosang was, perhaps, the sole reason why Jongho pushed himself  _ hard  _ to act as well at the same time being a script writer. When he had told Yunho about it, the latter was not very fond of the idea, considering he knew that Jongho was only doing this out of competitiveness. As a president, he could not let that happen.

  
  


However, Jongho looked as if there was nothing more in the world than to be a script writer  _ and  _ an actor at the same time - or rather - to prove to Yeosang that he  _ can  _ dare bring himself in front of him and even beyond him, whatever that could possibly mean.

  
  


Thus, Yunho could not do anything else about it. He had simply let him be and had eventually learned that it was somehow a good thing, too. He could not deny that Jongho could grow through this and be better than he already was.

  
  


And in the end, the boy did.

  
  


Jongho cannot be even more passionate about theatre plays. The words that had rolled off Yeosang’s tongue become fuel to an already existing fire raging within the brown irises of his eyes, which glimmer amidst the dark as he stares into the computer screen, fingers clicking on every key, eager to finish the script before the sunrise.

  
  


And, at last, when he writes the final word “ _ END”  _ at the very bottom of the last page, Jongho smiles to himself.

  
  


_ He will beat Kang Yeosang. _

  
  
  
  
  


…

  
  


The following days go by as fast as Jongho wished it would. He couldn’t be more thrilled to finally find out about the winner of the local script writing contest. Truthfully, he doesn’t have hopes as high as the heavens for this, or rather, he tries not to, at least. He has poured his every possible bit of being into this and has left a significant piece of himself in it. It would severely break his heart if he expects so much only to hear his name not being called.

  
  


However, it is as if the universe always remains faithful on his side, especially on that one fine Friday - the very moment which Jongho anticipates so much for.

  
  


As expected, Yunho calls all the members of the club in for a quick meeting right after the bell rings for their class dismissal. They gather in a spacious room, sitting cross-legged while their hopeful eyes are all fixed on the president, who is standing by the table up front with a rather incomprehensible smile on his face.

  
  


Jongho could not tell if it were apologetic - a hint of bad news that might just shatter his heart into tiny debris. He could not tell either if it were… bright - just lips itching to finally drop the good news that would sound like sweet, harmonious music in Jongho’s ears. The fact that he could not read him makes his heart thump louder in his chest, hammering against his ribs as if it begs to be set free. Jongho feels  _ sick. _

  
  


Yet, just as when he opens his mouth to excuse himself to the bathroom, Yunho drops the bomb.

  
  


“Choi Jongho won the contest.”

  
  


Silently gasping. Slapping a palm over his mouth. Standing right up from his spot and eyes round and wide in shock. The loud, pounding in his chest has now calmed down as soon as he has heard the sweet music in his ears.

  
  


He honestly could not believe he actually won. This is his first time participating in a script writing contest outside their high school and yet, as if the angels from above have heard his every prayer, what seems to be a miracle falls on earth.

  
  


He must be overreacting, perhaps over exaggerating. He can’t really explain how he is feeling. Too happy. Euphoric. Or maybe that’s a little too much. He doesn’t know and he can’t bring himself to care because what matters the most at that moment is that he actually  _ won _ .

  
  


He won the contest that Yeosang must have participated in, too.

  
  


_ Loser _ , he thinks.

  
  


The spacious room is then filled with applause from here and there and loud cheers from his supportive friends as Jongho walks his way up to the front when Yunho gestures to him. The smile playing by his lips can only grow bigger as it seems, never fading away. And this moment feels too perfect;  _ too  _ perfect it almost feels unreal.

  
  


“What is he winning?” Wooyoung, his classmate, asks as soon as he raises his hand above his head, quickly catching the attention of the president.

  
  


Yunho chuckles, “Were you even listening when I announced about the contest?”

  
  


Wooyoung shakes his head no, unashamed. And Jongho really can’t blame him. He, too, doesn’t know what he will benefit from this. He just really wants to win (and most especially, over Yeosang, of course).

  
  


“Basically, we are doing the script!” Yunho announces, raising said script in his hand, “We don’t have to worry about the expenses ‘cause the organizers of the contest will fund for us. And we also don’t have to worry about how we may lack in staff because we will be working with the other clubs from the other schools!” He checks the paper in his hand and flips a few pages, skimming through the cast, “In fact, I think they already have selected a few people to act, so shall we as well?”

  
  


The club is then quick to agree, a few even raising their thumbs up to Yunho’s liking. The president smiles to himself as he hums, eyes going through the list of roles. “I personally think Jongho would be the best to play the lead. He would understand the story the most,” he suggests.

  
  


“No problem,” Jongho immediately approves. This has always been what he wants anyway.

  
  


He doesn’t know why, but the play has not been done nor planned yet Jongho already feels so much like a winner. He remembers how Yeosang had offended him for simply not being who he is  _ now _ and now that everything has fallen onto their rightful places in his hands, he can’t help but wonder how Yeosang would feel about this.

  
  


He wonders how Yeosang feels about revenge.

  
  


Jongho can only smirk.

  
  


“Have they chosen someone for the second lead already? You know, the one who would be my rival in the play,” he asks Yunho as he peeks over the taller guy’s shoulder to see. His eyes then roam through and through the list of roles and names assigned to each, eager to find out who it would be.

  
  


“Ah, yes! It’s Kang Yeosang.”

  
  


_ Fuck. _

  
  


Jongho wishes this is not real.

  
  


“You’re kidding,” he mutters under his breath as grey hovers over his eyes. He then seizes the script from Yunho’s hands while silently whispering to himself - or to a god out there - that this is just a joke Yunho started.

  
  


But when his eyes fall on a name only infamous in Jongho’s little world, Jongho realizes:

  
  


This is his reality and winning the contest is simply the calm before the raging storm.

  
  


“Fuck,” he curses, yet again under his breath. He shoves the pile of papers back onto Yunho’s chest, his eyes still lost far deep into the ground. 

  
  


Jongho can’t help but think this is his karma - something that awaits him all this time ever since the bitterness towards the Kang Yeosang blossomed in his chest. He suddenly wants to regret every bit of it - the ill will and the competitiveness which was a fuel to the fire. He wants to shove everything back to where they originally belonged.

  
  


But it is all too late.

  
  


Before him stands an opportunity he might only get a grasp of once in a blue moon. Although Jongho is clearly not very fond of Kang Yeosang, he wouldn’t like letting that get in the way.

  
  


After all, the script is all about hostility between the two leading roles, which, in this case, will be played by the natural rivals themselves. Jongho doesn’t even think they will have to act it out when it is all in their nature. It shouldn’t be hard, right?

  
  


_ It shouldn’t. _

  
  


“Fine, I’ll take it,” Jongho grunts before he stomps his way back to his spot on the floor, plopping himself down while grumpily crossing his arms across his chest, his lips subconsciously forming a pout.

  
  


“Good! As you should,” Yunho jovially says.

  
  


The rest of the meeting then proceeds to studying the storyline, forming committees and assigning leaders in each, filling the untaken roles, scheduling the practices - Mondays, Wednesdays, Fridays every after class and Saturdays all at their school - and lastly, contacting the other schools.

  
  


In the entirety as Jongho observes, the theatre club seems to be overly excited about this. It’s not so surprising as this is the first time they are preparing something huge - with other schools involved and with it being showcased before the whole province. This is something definitely exhilarating and Jongho would not let anything ruin it - whether it would be his hatred, his competitiveness, or…

  
  


_ Something else _ .

  
  
  
  
  


…

  
  


“...and you dare bring yourself in front of me?” says Jongho dramatically, eyes wide and on unbridled fire, fixed on none other than Yeosang himself.

  
  


“Cut!” Yunho yelps from the seats at the same time clapping his hands together like a slate. He has a beaming smile on his face and that’s enough to tell Jongho they did great.

  
  


Monday, Wednesday, and Friday have passed by and Saturday rolls on. The beginning of their practices always go well to their liking. There are hardly any mistakes from here and there. A few forget their lines or miss the timing of their entrances and exits and some may burst out laughing midway, but they simply shrug it off only to keep on going in the end.

  
  


And as expected, the natural rivalry between Jongho and Yeosang doesn’t get in the way of the play, but is used for the better instead. 

  
  


Just like Yunho’s comment, the ill will in between seems genuine as if it is a play straight out of reality. Jongho can only smile and chortle at this.

  
  


Break often comes in as soon as a scene finishes. Jongho takes this as a cue to scurry his way to the backstage and grab his bottle of water. He brings the rim to his lips and feels recharged just as when he feels it down through his throat. 

  
  


Then he hears his name being called, “Jongho.”

  
  


And there goes water spritzed all over and everywhere.

  
  


“Disgusting,” he hears the same voice murmur.

  
  


Jongho wipes his mouth with the back of his hand as he slowly looks to the owner of the voice. Now, why the hell is Yeosang here backstage with him? For all he knew since Monday, all this boy wanted to do was to avoid him at best as if Jongho had some sort of a viral disease. It’s not that Jongho is complaining. After all, the constant distancing helps the acting turn more genuine. It’s just that this- he finds it _ weird.  _

  
  


“What do you want?” Jongho snaps. Perhaps internally, he is already preparing himself for another ‘dare-bring-yourself-in-front-of-me’ fiasco. It is almost like everytime he sees Yeosang, he switches his very own ultimate defense mode on, knowing this brown-haired boy has the capability to hold words like swords.

  
  


“That’s my water.”

  
  


And embarrassment. This brown-haired boy has a strong capability to bring embarrassment upon Jongho, who would most likely drag this chagrin to his grave.

  
  


“ _ Fuck, _ ” Jongho mumbles under his breath. He hesitates for a while, thinking -  _ should I hand it over to him? But fuck, I already drank from it and if he drinks from it, too… wouldn’t that be considered as an… indirect kiss? FUCK. Let’s just hope I have a cold, so he can catch it, too.  _

  
  


In the end, Jongho does hand the bottle of water over to the other boy and even though it may sound disgusting as it already is, he may be really wishing he has a cold.

  
  


“You dare give it back to me after you have your mouth all over its rim? Are you kidding me?” Yeosang remarks, eyes squinted, mouth twitching, and words sharp like swords as Jongho has expected.

  
  


“I have a question,” Jongho clears his throat and brings the bottle back down, “Why do you always say ‘you dare?’ For the lack of vocabulary?”

  
  


“Then, I’ll throw you one, too,” Yeosang joins in, crossing his arms across his chest, glares and says, “Why are you so  _ obsessed  _ with me you had to take the words I told you before into a line for the play? For the lack of skill in script writing?”

  
  


Jongho clicks his tongue and opens his mouth to quip back, but Yeosang is already on his way out of backstage with a smirk on his face, leaving the other out of words and in an agonizing pique.

  
  


Then, it goes on and on almost like a routine.

  
  


At first, it is vexing for the both of them. One would retort and leave with a winner smile while the other grunts, left frozen on the spot. The latter would seek revenge and success comes in the end; it is now the other’s turn to frown and let out a string of profanities through gritted teeth.

  
  


Until it becomes something else, something new, as it continues to go on and on. 

  
  


What was once an exchange of sharp insults eventually becomes a banter, which, for others, probably appears similarly as any other day. 

  
  


But for the both of them, it’s already something else. 

  
  


What were once grunts and/or string of profanities and winner smirks are now giggly laughter, echoing through the backstage, sometimes even biting down on their lower lip to hold it back just to keep on bickering.

  
  


The first time Jongho hears laughter escape Yeosang’s lips he muses it has already turned out to be something else. Perhaps just a routine? Something the both of them got used to due to the amount of exchanging of lines? A bonding? A once tangled string now loose and free and now tied around their fingers?

  
  


He could not really pinpoint to it nor bring himself to. He could not find the word for it and the script could not tell him, too.

  
  


But Yeosang knows what it is. Maybe, Jongho is the one lacking in vocabulary after all.

  
  


And Yeosang is just yet to teach him on one fine Saturday.

  
  
  
  
  


…

  
  


There is only less than a week away till the main event when things… slowly fall into somewhere they don’t belong. 

  
  


It’s summer and yet the rain pelt down like bullets, thrumming against the cement and in Jongho’s ears as he scrambles his way to school. The forecast report said otherwise and so Jongho did not bring any umbrella with him, ergo his hair and shirt now dripping wet, shoulders shivering from the cold, sudden air.

  
  


What are all the other things that could possibly go wrong in just a day?

  
  


He barges into the gymnasium, wet footprints on the wooden floor, and the first person to approach him is Kang Yeosang.

  
  


He is thrown a towel, which he can’t even question where Yeosang got as he is too drenched in rainwater to bother to ask. He wraps it around his head like a hoodie and proceeds on scurrying over to the stage where the rest of the club waits.

  
  


“Sorry, I’m late!” Jongho tells Yunho as he jumps right onto the stage, still with a towel around his head.

  
  


“That’s fine. The bad weather got a lot of us late, too,” Yunho says in response, eyes studying the script just as he usually does. 

  
  


“Let’s not waste any more time then.” Jongho rubs the towel against his hair a few more times before he throws it away like a ragdoll and drops it to the ground as he prepares himself for the day’s rehearsal.

  
  


Yeosang lets out a dismissive laugh, eyes in disbelief as he glances over to the dripping boy. “You’re not gonna practice like that, are you?”

  
  


“Sure, I would! It’s just water,” Jongho shrugs and shakes his arms, droplets of rain falling from here and there.

  
  


“Dumbass. Don’t dare get sick when the play is in 6 days. No one’s a better nemesis for me but you.” Yeosang flashes him a smile, beaming brighter than the clapping thunder from outside, and if it were music, it would sound better than the pouring rain.

  
  


Jongho chuckles and shies his eyes away. “I’m far too stronger than pathogens,” he quips, sometimes jokingly flexing his biceps as he does.

  
  


“Pathogens? Your word of the day, huh?”

  
  


“No, I listened to biology well. Stating that just in case you think-”

  
  


“Alright!” Yunho exclaims and claps, cutting the two archenemies and calling the attention of the club, “Before it gets too fired up, let’s start at scene 12 just before it ends.”

  
  


A few more laughter escape their lips before they saunter to their places for the scene. As Yunho announces the usual lights, camera, and action, they transform into their characters - Jongho as the brave boy who lived all his life in poverty and Yeosang who only cares for his father’s throne.

  
  


It’s a play that emphasizes the iron wall standing in between the rich and the poor; a play that sheds light to the struggles of the lower class in the hands of the uppermen. In a modern setting, it’s a play that would make people say: “eat the rich.” It’s a funnily sounding goal they have assigned, but hey- it could still show the impact of the play.

  
  


Now the so-called impact all depends on the intensity. The iron wall in between, at all means, should be on fire throughout the show. The intensity, at all times, should always be present. The eyes of the commoner Jongho should be of a rabbit’s - a prey but brave - while the eyes of the Prince Yeosang should be of a lion’s, filled with anger and disgust.

  
  


Except…

  
  


_ Except… _

  
  


_ They’re slowly fading away. _

  
  


As the rain patters while in the middle of a summer wave, the once vibrant color on the wall gradually turns into a lighter value. As Mondays, Wednesdays, Fridays, and Saturdays roll around, the unfriendly fire in between two nemeses is now cooled off with water, streaming carelessly and freely, certain of where to go.

  
  


The words which were once and are always supposed to be sharp like swords are now blunt, thrown across but never painful. It is almost like a utopian city, where everybody else is equal to everybody else; there are no rich nor poor; no selfishness, no suffering; and-

  
  


The prince has fallen in love with the commoner.

  
  


In simpler terms, Yeosang doesn’t  _ hate  _ Jongho like he used to, neither can he bring himself to.

  
  


Jongho notices this and Yunho does, too.

  
  


“Cut!” the president shouts from his seats, sounding unamused. He once again claps his hands together like a slate. It’s the first time he’s had an apparent frown hovering over his visage. “Where is the hatred, Yeosang? The hostility? The disgust?”

  
  


Yeosang flutters his eyes shut and exhales sharply and deeply. He bobs his head, understanding.

  
  


“Hey, we only have 6 days left. Don’t fall in love with Jongho just yet,” Wooyoung jokes… or did he? 

  
  


Either way, Jongho sends him a glare and it’s just enough to shut his friend up. Yeosang, on the other hand, sighs one more time before he calls for a break. 

  
  


Yunho lets out an exasperated sigh as well, but permits the break in the end.

  
  


Yeosang hurries to the backstage and Jongho follows him behind. The latter does not know why he is beginning to be concerned, heart thumping louder against his chest like the heavy rain pattering against the windows. He tries his best to nevermind and stands in front of Yeosang instead, who plops down on a wooden prop, head buried into his hands.

  
  


“Something happened?” Jongho starts as he stares; watches how Yeosang’s shoulders heavily rise and fall, listens to his deep breaths muffled by his hands.

  
  


“I can’t act,” Yeosang confesses, words almost inaudible, but Jongho understands.

  
  


“No kidding!” Jongho exclaims sarcastically, but when Yeosang finally looks up to scowl at him, that is when Jongho figures the brown-haired boy before him is serious. He quickly zips his mouth back into a line, now genuinely ready to listen. “What do you mean you can’t?”

  
  


“At least I can’t act like I hate you.”

  
  


Jongho snaps his eyebrows up.  _ Well, that’s new.  _ He wants to laugh right there, right now because he knows and he can at last admit to himself that if there is one role Jongho lives to become? That is to be the boy on the receiving end of every bit of Yeosang’s contempt, and vice versa. They live to become each other’s archenemies. One not knowing how to hate the other would shatter reality.

  
  


“But you  _ hate  _ me. We don’t even have to act it out all this time. We were doing so well.”

  
  


“But, I don’t,” Yeosang snaps with another scowl, “What’s not clicking? I don’t.”

  
  


“That’s impossible,” Jongho remarks. It sounded tough in his mind, but has appeared softer in tone as the words seep out. He sits next to the other boy, pondering, fingers rubbing small circles across his chin. “Then, what did you hate about me before?”

  
  


Yeosang breathes in and the silence follows, nothing but the pitter-patter of the summer rain. Even so, Jongho patiently waits, behavedly sitting next to the other boy.

  
  


“I hate that you intimidate me,” he finally starts and Jongho is already surprised at the first few words. “I’ve always known about you since sophomore year. They always say you are  _ that  _ good of a scriptwriter. That’s why when you came to see me, I put my defense up,” he chuckles.

  
  


“Me, too,” Jongho whispers.

  
  


“And I keep on doing that. The competitiveness as well. I would have not joined this script writing contest if I hadn’t found out you were joining.”

  
  


“Me, too. I wanted to defeat you.”

  
  


“And you did,” Yeosang smiles a bit and nods, “When I found out you won over me, I was so upset. When I found out I was gonna be your rival for the play, I thought- well, at least I don’t have to act so much.”

  
  


Jongho laughs, “Me, too.”

  
  


“See?”

  
  


He looks up to Yeosang, the cheeky smile disappearing into a curious frown.

  
  


“After all the rehearsals, I noticed we are not so different. After all your me-too’s, it shows you are not my nemesis. So, how could I hate you? It’s like hating on my other half and if I do, I wouldn’t feel so complete.”

  
  


Jongho stops, blinks, and stares. It must be taking him a whole minute to process Yeosang’s words and no- it’s not for the lack of vocabulary, nor is it the lack of skills in writing. But, it is how Yeosang calls him his  _ other half _ . A big word. A soulmate. The other end of a red string. A prince for a prince. And a polar opposite of whatever he got used to calling themselves to be - rivals.

  
  


“W-What?” Jongho stutters, now not knowing which among the pool of words floating in his mind he should choose to say. None of those could equal to how things are as of the moment.

  
  


Yeosang looks far deep into his eyes. Although hesitant and shaking, he proceeds, “I don’t hate you,” he mumbles.

  
  


“So, you… you  _ what  _ me?” Jongho questions.

  
  


The rain continues to pour outside, never welcoming the sun back into the sky. It’s ironic and  _ wrong.  _ It is summer. It’s supposed to be clear skies, sunshines, tank tops, pools, and iced waters; no thrumming against the windows, not hair and shirt drenched in rainwater, and no tears.  _ No tears.  _

  
  


But there are tears. Just a drop rolling down on Yeosang’s cheek. Why is he tearing up in front of his nemesis? It’s ironic and  _ wrong.  _ He is his enemy, a rival, the receiving end of his every sharp word. It shouldn’t be like this.

  
  


“Something less than hatred.”

  
  


The reality then shatters.

  
  


_ There shouldn’t be something else.  _

  
  


Jongho reminisces the days the theater club was so happy to find out he won the contest. They were all so happily looking forward to it - an opportunity they could only have a grasp of once in a blue moon. When Jongho noticed that, he swore to himself he would never let anything get in the way - whether it is his hatred, his competitiveness, and  _ this. _

  
  


_ This something else. _

  
  


Jongho would not let it get in the way.

  
  


“But, I don’t.”

  
  


Yeosang slowly looks up and then slowly shies away. He doesn’t even know why he flinched, why he is so startled, so shocked over this. Things should have always been like this since the beginning.

  
  


“And I don’t see you any more than what I always see of you,” Jongho adds.

  
  


Yeosang then stands up and leaves. No stifled giggles nor winner smirks; just grey, stormy clouds hovering over his visage.

  
  


And even though there is a pang in Jongho’s chest - a desire to scream it out loud - he casts it aside. This, too- he wouldn’t let it get in the way.

  
  


Jongho steps back out into the stage after the rain stops. The practice proceeds. Lines are thrown, songs are sung, dances are done, and the iron wall in between now stands sturdy and strong.

  
  


Over Yeosang’s visage, there comes back the hatred, the hostility, the anger, and disgust, they say.

  
  


But all Jongho can see are pain and shattered hearts.

  
  


“Perfect!” Yunho yells instead of his usual ‘cut.’ The entire club coos and applauds, loud like a rumbling thunder. All the smiles are beaming and bright as the sun now enters the clear sky.

  
  


Everything is perfect, they say, but even Jongho cannot smile at this.

  
  
  
  
  


…

  
  


Six days later and the day has finally come. 

  
  


From outside, Jongho can hear indistinct murmurs of their entire province and the sound itself makes his heart beat louder and faster in his chest. He looks around and scans the backstage. The prop committee is in panic, arranging things here and there while obliging their leader, Seonghwa, who just loves to whisper-shout. The sound committee, which only consists of none other than Hongjoong and Mingi, rechecks and relistens the audio for the nth time, praying to god they make no mistakes. From afar, Jongho can hear his co-actor and fellow commoner San, whining and looking for his mic, which Yunho later hands over to him. 

  
  


And from his peripheral vision, Jongho can  _ feel  _ Yeosang, standing and waiting by the other entrance. He can see him fixing his microphone, sometimes practicing his lines in a whisper. It has been six days. The rain has stopped yet the boy still has stormy clouds above his head.

  
  


It breaks Jongho’s heart.

  
  


“Everyone ready?”

  
  


He snaps from his trail of thoughts when he hears Yunho’s voice. Each assigned leader of every committee gives him a thumbs-up. Yunho nods, clears his throat, and with a few words spoken to his mic, the play starts.

  
  


Lines are thrown, songs are sung, dances are done, and the lower class has successfully raised their voices louder than the uppermen.

  
  


It is a play that runs for over an hour, but then Jongho sees it ending in just a flash. The final music plays. With a gesture from Hongjoong, Jongho steps back out onto the stage, a welcoming, warm smile on his face as he bows to the crowd. Next up is Yeosang, who almost easily conceals the gray clouds with just one smile. He stands next to Jongho as they both bow down.

  
  


As the whole cast is called and so are every other person behind the scenes, all of them hold hands. It is in this moment when Jongho feels Yeosang hesitate, fingertips grazing against each other’s only to drop it and leave it be in the end. For one last time, the whole crew bows down and the applause of the crowd roars louder than any storm.

  
  


The lights then shut down, marking the end of the play. Yeosang rushes out of the stage and into the back and Jongho can’t help but follow from behind.

  
  


He does not really know why either. He doesn’t even know the words to say. He doesn’t even know why there is a need to talk. The final day has come. Jongho will stay in this school while Yeosang returns to his. They can pretend like strangers again after all these times.

  
  


But why is Jongho chasing after him, calling for his name, as if there is something else to talk about?

  
  


“Yeosang!”

  
  


At that final call, said Yeosang finally stops in his steps. He pivots, but never gives Jongho a glance. He only stands there, ready to listen to the words to come.

  
  


“I’m sorry,” is all Jongho has managed to say. There is certainly a multiple number of words lurking in his mind, but even without him knowing, those two words escape his mouth. “Believe me, I really am.”

  
  


“There’s no need to act anymore, Jongho.”

  
  


“I said believe me,” he counters immediately, slowly stepping closer to the other boy, “I wanted to get the best out of you and I know hurting you isn’t the answer, but still, I did.”

  
  


Yeosang scowls at him, curious and confused. Jongho takes this as a cue for him to continue, “I wanted the play to turn out well, so I broke your heart so you could hate me,” he explains ruefully, squeezing his eyes shut for some time, “But believe me, it broke my heart, too, to make you hate me.”

  
  


“You  _ dare  _ think it was that easy for me to hate you?”

  
  


Jongho snaps his eyes open and glances back up. Puzzled, he forgets the words to say next, stumbling, falling, and never getting back up. So, he only stands there, frozen on his spot, anticipating whatever there is next to come.

  
“You really are stupid,” Yeosang clicks his tongue, “Stab my heart a million times, but that won’t change how I see you as my other half.”

  
  


“Oh,” Jongho hums and blinks rapidly, still perplexed, “But, you acted a lot like you hate me.”

  
  


For the last time, Yeosang scoffs, walks past him, and quips back, “I’m a good actor, Jongho. Don’t dare forget that.”

  
  


Jongho’s lips stretch into a wide smile. Perhaps, happy is the word to describe how he feels at that time. There is something so comforting with how Yeosang’s lips tug up into a smirk, how he lets out a dismissive laugh, and how he always has to make sure he leaves first just so he could have the final word. It brings him back to their sunny days. Nostalgic, kind of? And Jongho can’t help but smile.

  
  


“Yeosang!” he hollers one more time, turning around on his heels.

  
  


“What do you want?” Yeosang snaps, but everything is friendly, as he, too, pivots around. He tries his best to maintain the irritated frown on his face, but completely fails as soon as he bites down on his lower lip, holding his laughter back.

  
  


“Do you…” Jongho hesitates, but dismisses it right away, “Do you hate me?”

  
  


Yeosang chuckles and nods exaggeratingly. “Very much. You?”

  
  


Jongho hums and thinks. “A little less than I often do.”

  
  


For the first time in the last six days, laughter escapes their lips. It’s evening and yet Jongho feels the sun is rising just outside the place. And that reminds him-

  
  


“Umbrella?” Jongho asks suggestively as he grabs the object from his side and raises it in a gesture. Yeosang furrows his eyebrows, confused, so Jongho adds, “Forecast says less chance of rain tonight, but I don’t believe what’s on TV anymore.”

  
  


Yeosang chortles, “But what about you?”

  
  


“We share?”

  
  


For the first time in the last six days, there goes the smiles up on their faces, eyes fixed on each other’s.

  
  


“Okay,” Yeosang mutters.

  
  


“Okay,” and replies Jongho.

  
  


Together, they saunter to the exit door, throwing banters from time to time. It isn’t so surprising anymore. It’s their routine, their bonding, a once tangled string now loose, free, and wrapped around the tips of their fingers. 

  
  


And for the first time in the last six days, in the middle of the summer heat,

  
  


The rain pours.


End file.
